


Bearly A Moose

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Humor, M/M, Porn, Season/Series 06, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel has a penchant for all things Canadian, Sam slobbers, Cas wants it too, Bobby says "BALLS!", and it's worst day of Dean's life until he has sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bearly A Moose

**Author's Note:**

> My GISHWHES team made me do it. (Shout out to the Casnatchers, woo!)
> 
> This is nothing but smokey, white, burning crack with some (awkwardly written) porn at the end. It's my first time writing porn, so forgive everything horrible about it.
> 
> The story yanked the reins from my hands after word seven or so. I don't even know how this came into existence, but I'm kind of glad it did.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at balthazaur. Peace out, bitches.

The Winchester’s luck had held out for so long already. Dean was waiting for the day it would break with bated breath. Good luck only lead to supremely awful luck, like apocalypses and sold out pies. 

Something was bound to happen, and soon. 

When Dean woke up, he found himself eye-to-eye with a huge. Fucking. Moose. 

“Good morning, Dean.” 

Dean promptly freaked the fuck out.

* * *

Even - perhaps especially - as a moose, Sam towered over Dean. Who knew moose were so fucking tall (apart from the damn Canadians)? Standing straight, the crown of Dean’s head only barely touched Sam’s massive shoulders. AND SAM WASN’T EVEN STANDING. HE HAD TO BEND OVER ‘CAUSE THOSE FUCKING ANTLERS WERE THIS CLOSE TO PUNCTURING THE GODDAMN CEILING. In fact, Dean was pretty sure that those cracks and scrapes in the plaster weren’t there yesterday. 

Also, the bed was broken. Try explaining that to the manager. 

Oh, God, they had to explain this to the manager. 

Sam was rippling with Herculean muscles. His fur was warm, but it was coarse to the touch. Honestly, it looked like the softest shit ever, but no sir-ee. Dean reached to scratch around Sammy’s ears but drew away promptly, stating, “This is weird as fuck.” 

“You’re telling me.” 

“You know, I always said you were a moose.” 

Even as a giant fucking mammal with fucking fur, Sam’s bitchface shone loud and clear. Dean’s answer was only to smirk. 

“Haha, very funny. Now call Cas down here so he can fix me.” 

“Ew, you’re drooling all over the place! Man, contain yourself!” 

Sam butted Dean with his bony appendages, causing Dean to fall backwards onto the bed, trapped by the antlers and laughing his ass off. 

“Seriously, dude. It’s all over the carpet. Ew, you’re getting it on my bed! Shove it!” 

Sam just stabbed at Dean again. Dean couldn’t stop laughing regardless.

* * *

“Okay, here’s a problem,” Dean said once the chuckles subsided and the gravity of the situation really hit him. “How do we even get you out of here?”

“Is _that_ what you’re focussing on? How about HOW IN THE HELL DO I GET BACK TO NORMAL?” 

“You were never normal, Sammy.” Sam’s bitchface only increased in power, so Dean added, “All in good time.” He had already sent a quick prayer Cas’ way between fits of giggles. Whether the angel could actually hear it was another matter. Dean was kind of guessing on no since the celestial wave of intent or whatever it is he called himself usually answered immediately. So immediately it was like he was one of those girlfriends who stayed by the phone and picked it up the instant it started a’ ringin’. Which was a weird thought, thinking of Cas as a needy chick with no life outside of her brazen boyfriend, but whatever. “In the mean time, that can’t be very comfortable.” He gestured to Sam, all hunched and bowed, glaring at Dean through the thickness of his eyelashes. Seriously, moose must have some kind of mascara on tap; an airplane could land on those lovely lashes. 

Sam grimaced. “It’s not.” He wiggled a little to try to get into a new position, but it’s not as if a nearly two ton moose can really move in a shitty motel outside of Phoenix nowhere.

There’s another problem: are there really any moose in Arizona? 

Yeah, Dean didn’t think so.

* * *

Since their first invocation didn’t seem to go through, Dean prayed to Cas again, then flipped his phone to call Bobby. After a few rings, the old man picked up with a gruff, “This better be important.” 

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, trying not to burst out laughing again. Sam still held his patent bitchface, made all the bitchier by the fur and large, flaring nostrils. 

When the urge to giggle diminished some (because it never really left; how could it? This was gold) Dean managed to choke out, “Yeah, I’d say it is.” 

Sam, without any more preamble, said, “I’m a moose.” 

Bobby stayed silent for a few seconds. Dean imagined him rolling his eyes beneath a baseball cap and flipping through some ancient, dusty treatise, a bottle of beer his only companion. “Ya’ll’re drunk. I told ya not to drunk call me again, idjits." 

“No no no!” Dean exclaimed. “Literally. Sammy’s got antlers and everything.” 

“It’s true.” 

Bobby sighed long-sufferingly. “What did’ja get yerselves into this time?” 

“Nothing! Or at least, I don’t think so…” Dean looked at Sam again, who did the moose equivalent of a shrug. His antlers scraped the ceiling up some more, and Dean grimaced. Hopefully they’d be long gone and human by the time anybody thought to look up. 

“What hunt are you on?” 

“We’re in between. There’s a hunt in Houston we were driving to, and we stopped for a rest,” Sam replied. “We’re off interstate 8, I’m not sure what town but-” 

“OH, BALLS!” 

“What? Bobby, what?” 

“I’m a damn beaver.” 

And fuck it! How could anybody blame Dean for SCREAMING when these jokes are just given to him on a silver fucking platter like this? It would be a crime not to break into gut-bursting guffaws. Somewhere between zero seconds and two, Bobby hung up. Some time after that, Sam stood up angrily - as if he could still storm out in a cloud of indignation and flowing hair - and broke the ceiling. Sand rained down on them; the light fixture shattered and ceased. Dean’s howling trickled to a stop, but started right back up again at the sight of Sam’s furry, infuriated face.

* * *

They had to wait for Cas to show up so they could safely get Sam out of the motel. In the mean time, Dean seriously wanted to bail. His stomach was dancing the Macarena as if silly tricks such as that could impress him enough to feed it, like a dog shaking hands for biscuits. And moose stank. Imagine, if you would, if a cow who had spent the last month inside it’s dank, fetid enclosure suddenly felt the urge to frolic in the dense forests of virgin Canada. That was the smell Sam was currently exuding. It was not pleasant. 

All Dean had by way of nourishment was a half eaten pack of sunflower seeds Sam had bought yesterday. Was he desperate enough to lower himself to Sam’s cuisine standards? 

Yes. The answer was yes. 

Sam was also getting a little stir crazy. He was starting to look at the grass outside with a weird sort of longing, salivating buckets and buckets of drool that cascaded onto the carpet in a strictly unpoetic manner… gross. 

Cas found them like this: Sam lying in an ocean of his own slobber by the bathroom and Dean as far away from him as possible in a circle of seed shells. 

Except Cas was a bear, uncomfortably, stubbornly walking on hind legs and scratching against the motel door to be let in. 

Fucking ace.

* * *

“Why does everybody have four legs except me?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas replied. If hearing Sam’s voice draw out of a giant motherfucking MOOSE wasn’t a large enough head trip (which, it was and it wasn’t, because Sam had always been and always would be a moose) then hearing Cas’ low tones come out of a dwarfish caniform was a brainfuck. It was hard enough coinciding that deep inflection in such a small man’s body; putting it in a little black bear freaked Dean the fuck out. “Perhaps your time will come.” 

“Can you just imagine him as a little rabbit?” Sam offered helpfully with a snigger that shook his meaty moose shoulders. 

Dean turned around to look the bastard in the eyes and point angrily. “I’m going to eat you.” 

Cas appraised him. “Yes, I believe I see it.” 

“God damn it!” He stood up, chair flying out behind him. “I’m not turning into Bugs Bunny!” 

“Yeah, the diet might kill you.” 

Dean glared at him long and hard, but Sam didn’t look too affronted - yeah, as if Dean could really snuff his brother - so he sighed and got back to business. 

“What’s responsible for this, anyway? A witch?” 

“Unlikely. Spells don’t travel long distances very well. Unless there were two witches - one stationed here and the other in South Dakota - we can rule witches out as a suspect.” 

“So that leaves... what?” Sam shifted his hooves. 

A sudden thought made Dean groan. “It’s not angels, is it?” Seeing as angels could do pretty much everything under and including the sun (or so it seemed; Dean hasn’t seen or heard evidence to the contrary), this new theory seemed their best bet. Seeing the realization cross hard across Cas’ glossy eyes and reverse color point snout confirmed it. 

“Perhaps.” 

“Do you know which one would?” 

Cas contemplated silently for about twenty seconds. In those twenty seconds, another gallon of saliva chuted from Sam’s muzzle to the carpet. Dean’s stomach growled in the silence, so he ate another sunflower seed. He had to admit the little buggers were tasty enough, but perhaps he just thought as much because he was so ravenous. It was hard to tell. 

At last, Castiel surmised, “Gabriel.” 

An elongated column broke off from Sam’s lips as he opened his mouth. 

“What?” Dean made out, pointedly not looking at Sam and his swimming pool. “Gabriel?” 

“Yes.” 

“But Lucifer iced his ass eons ago,” reminded Dean skeptically. 

“Has it occurred to you he could have simply tricked you and disappeared again?” 

Uh, no. Even though the errant archangel was supposedly on their side, Dean didn’t trust the guy farther than you could throw him, and he was glad when he realized he and Sam wouldn’t have to deal with the guy’s insufferable and agonizing “tricks”. Like killing Dean upwards of one hundred Tuesdays in a row just to prove a stupid point? No matter how many helpful videos he sends their way, Dean would never, ever forgive the bastard for putting his little (ginormous) Sammy through that. Ever. 

“What the hell is he trying to get across this time anyway?” Dean asked. “First it was the ‘you can’t help your brother’ deal, then it was ‘let Michael and Lucifer wear you as angel condoms’ thing. What in the hell does turning you into mutts prove?” 

Cas’ little black bear eyebrows depressed. “I’m not sure.” 

“Maybe…” Sam’s sentence trails off with a string of slobber. “Could it just be for kicks and giggles?” 

Dean wiped a hand over his face. “Whatever it is, we’ve gotta summon him fast before he magics me into a tiger or something.” 

The corner of Sam’s droopy lips lifted to reveal gums pinker than carnival food and colossal, milky teeth. “A tiger?” 

“Yeah.” 

Sam’s amused expression passed onto Cas’ face, the barest little ticks and shining eyes. 

“If you say so.”

* * *

“I still say rabbit,” Sam whispered when Dean left to get the stuff for an archangel summoning. Cas nodded and tried to suppress his grin.

* * *

It was a bitch to find everything in fucking Arizona, especially with a bear and a moose back at the motel, defenseless and vulnerable. Hopefully there wasn’t a fire or some other sort of emergency. Dean had made sure to tape the peephole from the inside and the curtains to the frame before he left. He also sprayed enough Febreze to make Hollister proud in the hope that the emanation of overwhelmingly artificial lavender and freesia scared any passing pedestrian off from their room. Also, a hastily made “DO NOT DISTURB” sign was tacked to the door. Just in case. 

Paranoid? He didn’t think so. The possibility of somebody discovering his moose and his bear was very real, and it wasn’t a daydream he cared to continue. All Dean knew was that if he found the brown and fuzzy bodies of the people who comprised his world in crinkly white bags, someone was gonna have to pay with bullets to the brain. 

It was well into the afternoon when he came back, but something was terribly wrong. One look at the signless door sent Dean’s heart exploding against his ribs. 

When he threw open the door, the room was mercilessly vacant. 

The dust scattered around in the door’s swing. 

It still smelled like a zoo.

* * *

The first thing he did after getting the hell out of there was call Bobby. Could beavers even pick up phones? Dean tried to remember if they had hands or something, but honestly, could anyone blame him for not knowing? Sam would know and would call him an idiot for not. He was dangerously close to throwing something. Bobby didn’t answer. 

“FUUUUUCK!” 

“Hey, babe.” 

The jovial voice sounded behind him, and immediately Dean was on the alert. He knew that voice. He fucking knew that stupid jesting tone he’d thought - knew, hoped - he’d never have to suffer through again. Those derisive vocal chords - vocal chords borrowed for heaven knows how long, and that’s pretty literal right there - haunted his nightmares. 

Gabriel.

 “Gabriel.” 

The archangel was smirking, expressive eyebrows and parenthese-d lips lifted more one way than the other, eyes gleaming. Just a few feet from Dean. So far away from their short supply of holy oil and the lighter. And Gabriel knew that. He sauntered over to Dean, arms swinging at his sides and hair flowing in the breeze in a form almost as elegant as Sam’s. 

“Hey, Dean-o! Miss me? Hold a funeral for me? Did ya cry?” 

“Where are they.” 

“What about Sam? Did he shed a tear or two?” 

“I said where are they!?” 

Gabriel threw his hands up, holding back a laugh. The anger in Dean’s chest was only growing, puffing out and out and seeping into his extremities. Fucking Gabriel. 

“Oh, they’re safe; don’t worry. Didn’t want some nosy neighbors poking their sniffers into that funk, am I right?” He tossed up an eyebrow. Dean remained unmoved. “Come on! I did you a favor. One of them was trying to get you to give him money.” 

Dean sighed. He knew he would get nowhere with the Trickster if he continued arguing like this. Things would just go in circles until they’d made themselves dizzy. “Okay, fine, thanks. Just give them back and turn them human. I’m not in the mood for your games.” 

“Oh, this isn’t a game, Dean. Did you think it was?”

 Goddamn it. “Yeah. You like messing with people. You killed me hundreds of times-” 

“Hundred and three.” He sounded proud, the fucker. 

“You put Sam and me in the damn television. And those college kids?” 

“You’re missing _just_ a few.” 

“Gabriel! Just give them back.” Damn it, now his eyes were filling with saltwater like a dammed river. He tried to keep his breathing steady, tried to reason with himself that Sam, Cas, and Bobby were _probably_ okay. At least not dead. Gabriel liked tricks; as far as Dean knew, he didn’t kill people directly too often. Although he’d only seen the Trickster a few times. He clung onto that hopeful theory. 

Gabriel exhaled heavily at last. “Fine. On one condition.”

 “Lay it on me.” He knew he’d regret this. But he needed his family back.

“You’ve read fairytales, right?” 

Uh, read, no. Seen, eh. He usually steered clear of them. Fairytales were usually Sam’s territory, full of that girly-girl stuff like forever and true love’s first kiss… Oh god. 

Gabriel’s grin grew as Dean’s heart sank. 

“Bingo!” 

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

 “Nope!”

 God damn it. 

Gabriel saw the concession in Dean’s face and promptly snapped his fingers.

* * *

After the whooshing sound in his ears died, his stomach churned a slower curdle. The ground had reappeared beneath the soles of his boots. His lungs expanded again. Mysteriously, his eyes were dry. Beside him, Gabriel started walking toward the building. 

It was an ordinary building as far as Dean could tell. It was faintly pink, like udders were or the bed of his fingernails were. There were propane tanks sitting around the corners, some abandoned construction vehicles parked and growing various weeds and grasses. On the side of the junkers’ yellow bodies were a confusing jumble of letters and accents Dean wouldn’t even try to begin to make heads or tales of. 

Gabriel caught him looking and paused. “It’s French, dingbat.” 

“Oh… I knew that.” 

The look the archangel threw him said he knew he was bullshitting. Dean didn’t really care. 

“Where are we?” 

“Canada! Land of the maple trees. Where’d ya think?” 

“Um… France?” Isn’t that where they spoke French? 

“You need some booksmarts, kid. And not Daddy Dear’s journal.” The angel continued on; Dean decided he had nothing to lose and followed him. “My vessel grew up somewhere here. He used to work here.” 

“Okay…” Was Dean supposed to care? He just wanted his moose, beaver, and bear re-humaned (or re-angelled as it was in Cas’ case). 

“Yeah, it’s kind of a dump. Nothing much to do about that except-” He snapped his fingers again, and suddenly a 20 foot chocolate version of _Manneken Pis_ materialized on the hood of an archaic tractor. “Ah. Better, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah, sure.” He reverted his gaze from the excessively magnanimous and disproportionate penis of the kid, who had these large wings folded against his back and Gabriel’s face. Dean jerked his head in the statue’s direction. “You’re overcompensating.” 

“Would you like to see for yourself?” Gabriel grinned, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead like two halves of a caterpillar in a playful kid’s shovel. “Mathew is _very_ well endowed.”

 “Oh, god no.” Dean shuddered. Taught him to ever make small talk again. “Let’s just get this over with.”

 “All right, princess. Have it your way.”

 They walked the rest of the way to the door in silence. Which wasn’t very long, mind you. Only, like, thirty feet. 

When Dean tried to door, it would budge, but it wouldn’t open. No amount of pushing or pulling would unlatch the lock. He’d kick it down, but a heavy metal door like that would make an accordion of his leg faster than you could say ‘mouse’. Rolling his eyes to Gabriel, Dean asked, “What’s the catch?” 

“The catch?” 

“Yeah. What makes the door open?” 

“Come on, princess. What makes all the fairytale doors open?” 

Shit. (Was Gabriel trying to teach him about fairytales? Was that his endgame, to have Dean so well versed in the fantasy stories as to rival Sam? Sam would know this shit down to a T, no doubt.) 

“Uh… abracadabra?” 

He waited, tensing. Nothing happened. 

“Is that the best you got, Winchester?” Gabriel laughed. “Man, you should be ashamed.” 

“What, am I supposed to kiss the door too?” 

The archangel shrugged. “If you want to. It’s _your_ family on the line.” 

“What about Cas?” 

He just shrugged again. “Boyfriend, family, same thing.” 

When Dean got everyone back, he was definitely going to wring Gabriel’s neck.

He rifled through all he knew about doors… which was surprisingly little. They opened one way or the other, sometimes both, on sets of hinges. They could be made of wood or metal or plastic, and probably some other stuff that Dean didn’t really want to dwell on. He looked at the doorknob; it needed a key. 

Aha! 

“Where’s the key?” he asked, turning to the smaller man, although he should know by now not to expect a real answer. 

Another fucking shrug. (Dean was really going to kill him.) A yawn. “You’re taking too long. This is getting boring.” 

“Then just open the door.” 

“No can do,” Gabriel replied. “Just say the magic words. It’s really not that hard, dumbo. Honestly, I’d expected better from you. I’m sort of disappointed.” 

Dean sighed and said experimentally after a moment of thought, “Open sesame?” 

And there. The door emancipated itself from the frame with a soft click, and the world’s most disheartening piano tune touched Dean’s ears. As he crossed the threshold into the dank building, the music bloomed louder and louder. Random, off-key clarinet notes blew in tandem with his footfalls. With Gabriel’s steps came the lilt of a flute, or possibly a piccolo. 

“What’s with the music, dude?” Dean asked. He didn’t see Sam, Cas, or Bobby anywhere. Nary a hair laid on the floor, nor a pond of saliva. The building reminded him of the one he’d trapped Gabriel in with the holy fire years and years ago, back when the lesson was to “play your roles”. Empty, grey, sad. He looked down on the shorter man.

 “Just felt like it,” Gabriel answered. 

“Okay. What now?” 

Gabriel snapped his fingers and everything changed. 

It was an office, cubicles and all. The slave boxes were depressing as hell, and it made Dean glad he’d never had to slog through a white collar job. They were empty and unkept, crumbs littering the floor, cords lying about, stains marring the grungy carpet. In a way, it reminded him of high school. 

“What’s this about?” 

“Dean, this isn’t a game of twenty questions.” Gabriel leveled a look at him, but honestly it wasn’t so intimidating considering the guy was nearly a whole foot shorter than him. Couldn’t Gabriel have taken a taller, more intimidating vessel? This was like looking at a midget. You’d think a high and mighty archangel would chose a badass vessel to live on earth in, like Raphael had the first time ‘round. (Was he an archangel? Dean couldn’t remember. Cas had too many siblings with too many ranks; it was hard to remember everything, no matter how many times Cas had to tell him.) “This is a fairytale.” 

“In an office?” 

Gabriel pushed him forwards, and Dean embarrassingly stumbled. Little dude could pack a punch. “There’s three tasks. Complete them and we’ll see about getting your woodland critters.” 

With that and another snap of fingers, Gabriel disappeared, but Dean had the idea he was floating around invisible or something to watch Dean like the game piece he was. 

Fine. Dean set his shoulders and took another step forwards, cautious and aware of Gabriel’s particular flavor of humor. Didn’t want to be catapulted into a wormhole or something. Just wanted his moose and bear and beaver, all alive and well in the Impala, hunting and stuff. Laughing over beers. 

Oh, Dean wished he were a rabbit right now. Anything other than this.

A bounteous bowl of vibrant scraps of green and a rainbow of garnish materialized from nowhere in the middle of the walkway. As Dean stared at it, a fork, a napkin, and a glass of water came into being on the side. Nothing else moved or actualized.

Fuck. 

Might as well be a rabbit.

* * *

It was probably his first salad ever. If it weren’t for the washed-out blades of iceberg smashed between his burger bun and cheese, Dean probably could’ve said he’d never had so much as a leaf of lettuce in his life. This was new. 

And disgusting, and repulsive, and abhorrent, nauseating. It was oily in a healthy way, totally disparate from the greasy burgers that his regular diet comprised of. There wasn’t even _chicken_ in this mix. Just vegetables, vegetables, and more goddamn vegetables. No bacon bits, no ranch. Zip. Nada. This fodder was designed specifically to make him hurl. 

The experience was made all the worse by the disconsolate music bleeding from the unknown source. It was like funeral music for his salad-virginity. If he weren’t Dean Winchester, there would definitely be some tears. As he choked down the rabbit food, as it caught in his throat, clogged it and refused to be swallowed into his stomach, he nearly did. 

Fucking Gabriel. 

But he had his brother, angel, and father figure to think of. So he shoveled in, making faces all the while but wolfing down each and every leaf of foliage anyway. When the bowl was spotless of anything edible, he stood up, feeling fucking healthy god help him, and shouted, “Is that the best you got?” 

He really shouldn’t have said anything.

* * *

As Dean walked along, he noticed the scene disintegrating. Softly at first, slowly. The edges crumbled away particle by particle until the chunks became larger, larger, and he was left in a world so white that it didn’t exist. No doors, no walls, and definitely no salads. That’s a plus in his book. 

The music stopped. 

After a while, he could hear strange things. His heart, his blood, someone walking up behind him. He twirled around, ready for a fight. Instead, he was enveloped in the warmest, least-clothed hug ever. 

Why was he naked all of a sudden? 

“Oh, Dean, I’ve missed you!” the voice in his ear cried, hot and most assuredly male. God damn it, Dean knew that voice. Maybe he’d only heard it that one time, but it was enough to haunt his more cracked-out nightmares of arrows and diaper-less big babies. Fucking Cupid buried his head in Dean’s neck, squeezed him tighter like a stubbornly empty tube of toothpaste, like they were lovers reunited after the brink of death or beyond. Dean gasped for breath. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“Yeah, feeling’s mutual, bud,” he squeaked out, very aware that his junk was touching the cherub’s. He oriented his hips to get some distance, wincing and making debatably unattractive faces. Only one angel could touch his cojones and- wait, what? 

Dean grimaced. “Can you just-” 

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

It didn’t sound like he was talking about their awkward pretty-much-somewhere-between-a-werid-remix-of-second-and-third-base-and-it’s-not-even-good hug. “For what?” 

Cupid’s only answer was to make breathing even more impossible. Dean’s lungs were turning blue for oxygen, keening for nourishment. “Please, please,” he gaped. “Air. Need.” 

“Oh! Sorry!” The big baby released Dean suddenly, looked him over to make sure there was no damage. When it was apparent that Dean would be okay, he held him in a less-restricting embrace. 

“How long until this little test is over with?” Dean asked, moving his hips away yet again. Gabriel’s death was going to be long and painful. Dean served his time in hell; he knew tricks worth the archangel’s salt. “I’ve got some Canadian wildlife to rescue, so-” 

“You don’t love me?” 

Oh, god damn it. “No, that’s not it, I just-” 

“I KNOW YOUR HEART RESTS WITH MY BROTHER, BUT YOU CAN LOVE ME TOO!” Cupid broke out into loud, insufferable sobs. Just this hugely obnoxious bawling noise. It was like someone ganked his puppies clean through with a semi-automatic or something. With a large display of flailing arms, more gross blubbering, and burst of fucking glitter, the cherub abandoned Dean. So not only was Dean naked, but he was also covered with glitter. Glitter. Of every color imaginable, just reflecting in the glow of the nothingness. And it was the microscopic kind, the kind that would give an amoeba something to wear to the strip club. It was going to be a BITCH getting clean. Ugh, it was all over his hair and in his nose and in his ears and bellybutton and there was probably some in his asscrack too and _what did Cupid mean?_  

From behind him came the loudest guffaws that dribbling into cackling like a seismometer . Dean felt everything drain out of his body. His very will to live just up and left. Sam, Cas, and Bobby better damn well appreciate what he was going through. If not, there’d be hell to pay. 

“Nice ass, Dean-o,” Gabriel called with an obvious grin. Something that sounded suspiciously like a dying moose choked in Gabriel’s direction. 

Dean opened his eyes to see the warehouse again. He was still naked, still covered in rainbow specks. And he just _knew_ in his gut that he had a larger audience than just the one archangel. Because he was just that lucky.

“I am so going to kill you,” he growled, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t as intimidating as he’d like to be. How scary could you be if your back was to the person you wanted to kill, you were covered in sparkles, and you were naked? Not very. 

“Oh, I’d like to see you try.” There was a smirk in his voice. Dean knew he was right. Gabriel, that bastard, had eluded death no less than three times in the presence of the Winchesters: the first time at the university, the second at the mystery spot, and the third by Lucifer’s hand. He was slippery, cunning, Dean gave him that, but man did he hate his guts. “Just one more task and you can have your little friends back.” 

“Okay, what is it?” His patience was on the end of its rope. In fact, there might not even be a rope anymore. The rope was so far gone it was in some hick town with a demon problem. And it was all frayed, useless. Dean chanced a look over his shoulder. 

Gabriel was standing all confident-like and grinning as wide as the fucking moon. But what made Dean die was that his hand was tangled in tufts of moose fur. His moose’s fur. And his moose was trying _so hard_ not to laugh, his antlers knocking into Gabriel’s head when he ducked to cover the chortles poorly. 

Oh god. 

“Son of a bitch.” 

Between snorts of laughter and a dribble of slobber, Sam choked out, “Hi, Dean.”

* * *

“Can I at least get some pants here?” Dean exclaimed. His face was still hot with embarrassment. At least Bobby and Cas weren’t around for some mysterious reason. Bobby would probably just look away, equally embarrassed, and call him an idjit. Cas, on the other hand, wouldn’t know that some things are meant to be private. He probably wouldn’t have a problem just staring at Dean with those eyes that see through bones and right to your soul. And while that wasn’t a very bad idea… now was _so_ not the time. 

Gabriel thought about it for a few moments. “Ehh, no. I’m liking the view.” 

Of course not. “Then let’s just get on with this, please. Before my balls freeze off.” 

“Oh, they won’t freeze off. You need those.” Gabriel dismissed him with a hand wave. “Your last task is to turn everyone human again. Or angel, in Cas’ case, whatever. Just make everyone look human again.” 

Dean’s eyes slid over to Sam briefly, thinking about what he’d have to do. “Dude, I don’t know about you, but I’m not into bestiality.” 

The archangel rolled his eyes. “Dude, they’re your family. If I were you, I’d get cracking. Or kissing.” 

Dean glanced back at Sam, his stomach churning. Bestiality _and_ incest? Not his slice of pie. 

But Sam looked sort of miserable as a moose. Massive and hunky, pretty much over his giggle fit at this point, Sam shuffled uncomfortably. Bobby was probably piss poor beaver, too. Cas… eh, he probably still exuded angelic righteousness and stuffed most of his discomfort under a veil of irritation. 

Fuck. 

“Alright, come here, Slobber Monster.” Dean waved his brother over with nothing but outstanding willpower (seriously? Incestuous bestiality? What a weird kink, Gabe), but Sam only looked at Gabriel, the movement of his head hitting the short little dude in the head with the antlers again. 

“Gabe, just give him some clothes, please.” 

Much to Dean’s surprise, with a great sigh, Gabriel complied. Between two milliseconds and a snap of fingers, he had his clothes back on, leather jacket and all. He exhaled in relief, although the thought that his clothes would now forever be tainted with glitter passed through his mind and he grimaced only a little. Whatever, it was worth it to be wearing fabric again, the cotton smoothing down goosebumps he’d been too worked up and embarrassed to realize had materialized onto his Edward Cullen skin. 

He looked back at his moose brother. Clothing was much better than naked. (Also, Dean might have to ask Cas wipe his brother’s memory of his birthday suit. Dean didn’t think Sam would mind not remembering that particularly much.) 

“Let’s get this over with,” Dean groaned. He motioned Sam closer again. 

The behemoth rose up to his feet, easily standing an impressive nine feet sans antlers (were proper wild moose really that tall? If so, damn). Gabriel was a dwarf in his shadow. Sam was a little rootless, unused to his spindly stick legs and especially unused to them bolstering so much weight. Poor things looked like they could snap. The slather continued to trail his progress. Upon approach, the cloud of fetor circumambient Sam nearly choked Dean. The stench was even worse now than it was in that stupid motel room, somehow, despite the space the smell had to float in now. Maybe it was because he’d been a moose for so long. 

Dean screwed up his nose, pinched it. “Dude, you need a bath.” 

“Could say the same to you.” His bistre eyes shone down on Dean with amusement, and he huffed his laughter, spittle flying everywhere. 

“Gross, dude!” As best he could, he wiped his face clean with his sleeve. It came away wet and glittery. “Come on, before you spit on me some more.” 

He had to lean closer to kiss him, and Sam had to lean down some. But apparently SOMEONE miscalculated heights and the angles, and instead of Dean’s puckered lips meeting Sam’s jowls, he got a peck of rank nose and a breath of concentrated cow-wandering-in-Canada perfume. Dean pulled away immediately, spitting and obliterating any moose germs that could have passed on to him. If Dean got some kind of weird-ass moose-herpes, there would be hell to pay for both Sam and, of course, the heinous mastermind behind the worst day of Dean’s life. Also, Dean needed to visit a toothpaste factory, pronto. 

Slowly, he divided his eyelids and cautiously looked for his brother, moose or human. It was nothing less than a miracle that he was very much Homo sapien, although less gratefully naked as a newborn babe. 

From over Sam’s normal, human shoulder, Gabriel was looking. Like, _looking,_ and _appreciating_ , and practically _smacking his lips_ around a cherry red lollipop that had suddenly appeared. A cast of horror crossed Dean’s face. 

“Nonononono, dude!” he exploded, shaking his head to eradicate the sudden and vomit-inducing image of his brother and Gabriel… let’s just say no one would be going to heaven doing what they were doing. And Gabriel, he just grinned maniacally in enjoyment of Dean’s distress and revulsion. 

“Mmm mmm mmmmm,” the archangel crooned blissfully, hungrily. 

Could this day get ANY worse? There wasn’t any possible way, Dean was so sure of it. 

“Just give me Cas and Bobby and we’ll get out of here,” Dean instructed. Pleaded. He did not want this nightmare to continue any longer. Much more of this and he might actually die. 

Gabriel considered his order, the lollipop hanging from his stained bottom lip. “How about this?” he started, and Dean knew he was going to hate whatever the archangel was going to proposition. “I give you your friends back, normal as can be, and I keep Sam for… hmm, and hour or three? Whatcha say?” 

Dean’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish several times before he got out, “What? No! No way! You are not taking my brother hostage!” 

“It’s not hostage,” Gabriel said. “Think of it more like…” 

“Prostitution?” proffered Dean. Sam looked down at his non-hoofed feet, strangely quiet. 

“Pft, no.” Gabriel waved a hand at Dean’s words. “Prostitution implies money. This is just sex.” 

“God damn it, Gabriel! No! That’s my brother!” Dean not only needed a toothpaste factory, but a brain bleach factory as well. He grimaced. 

“Yeah, and Cas is mine, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to keep you bimbos apart.” 

Dean ground his teeth together. “No means no.” 

“Dean.” 

“No, Sam.” 

“Dean.” Sam spoke louder, raising his eyes to meet Dean’s. Dean’s breath caught in his throat at that look, those puppy eyes. It was pleading, and it was excitement, eagerness, anticipation all wrapped into two lucent, chocolate brown orbs. The realization struck Dean dumb: Sam wantedto stay with the all-powerful archangel. And not just to give Dean an easy escape, but because he _wanted_ to. Of his own will and everything. For some reason, Sam just wanted to stay. 

Lowering his voice, although he had no doubt in his mind that Gabriel could hear them, Dean hissed, “What are you thinking?! That’s Gabriel. That’s the _Trickster._ You remember what he did to you, and you _still_ want to stay?” 

Sam looked a pinch embarrassed, his cheeks turning pink and his lips twitching in and out of a smile. “I don’t know, Dean, I just-” 

“Wrap it up, boys!” Gabriel shouted. “This is a limited time offer, valid for only the next thirty seconds.” 

Sam turned back to Dean. “It’s okay, Dean. I want this.” 

“Are you _insane?!_ You know who this is, you know what he can do.” Dean searched Sam’s expression for anything, anything but the conviction he saw there. Panic seized his chest unrelentingly. 

His brother, however, had no qualms. Well, he was starting to look pretty annoyed that Dean was refusing to take the offer, but that was it. And when Sam set his mind to something, he never let go. Stubborn son of a bitch. He’d get back to Gabriel somehow, even if Dean dragged him out kicking and screaming, if he wanted it. 

 _Shit._  

Gabriel was counting down in an obnoxious voice that Dean had no idea what Sam heard in it. “Ten, nine, eight-” 

“Fine!” exclaimed Dean. He gnashed his teeth together. Ugh, he was going to develop bruxism or something if he kept up with this habit. “Sam can stay.” 

The utter and absolute glee in Gabriel’s face nearly literally outshone the sun, but  combined with the answering smile in Sam’s expression, their star didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. 

With a snap of fingers, Cas and Bobby popped into existence. They were human and thankfully (or in Cas’ case, not so thankfully) clothed. With another snap that Dean barely heard, the three of them were back in the motel room that _still_ smelled like an animal refuge center. The ceiling was still caved in and scratched, there were still slobber stains and puddles on the carpet, and the bed was still broken. Motel sweet fucking motel. 

Cas transported Bobby back to Sioux Falls, seconds later returning and offering to fix the ruined motel, a proposal Dean couldn’t refuse. One zap here, another work of mojo there, and soon the motel returned to it’s normal state: no rancid rank, no broken anything, no saliva pools. Dean grinned easily around his toothbrush. 

“Thanks a million, Cas,” Dean applauded, his toothbrush muffling his words so they sounded more like ‘hank a million cash’. “If you weren’t here, I don’t even know how we’d explain anything.” 

“Perhaps a raucous night of pleasure,” supplied Cas. There was a hint of laughter in his eyes, in the quirk of his lips that Dean had the sudden thought to swallow, make it his. 

“I don’t know what kind of sex you’re having, but I want it.” The grin fell off his lips as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, his eyes widened with horror. _Did he just imply that he wanted sex with Cas?_ Yeah, he did. But simultaneous with the panic was a jolt of pleasure at the thought. Sex. With Cas. His angel. Not a bad road to go down in the safety of his head. Except… oh, yeah, how could he forget the flagstaff of awkward moments? 

 _(Inappropriate boner alert.)_  

Dean coughed into his hand. _Think Sam. Sam is going at it like a rabbit with an archangel right now._ And it was deflating. Thank god. 

Cas was looking at him with an odd look, head tilting and eyebrows pulling together, puzzled. Dean realized that Cas had probably spoken while he was trying to calm Little Dean down from the battlelines, and at least a minute had passed, probably two, maybe three. And all the while he was just standing there with his fucking toothbrush in his mouth, an eager cock in his pants, disgusting thoughts of his brother in his head, and a constipated look on his face. Oh, very attractive. Cas must’ve thought he was the greatest idiot in the world just standing there without a word, without much movement. 

 _Did he actually see it?_  

Shit, he was standing up. 

“Dean, are you all right?” Cas cautioned worriedly. 

“Yeah, just peachy.” The flash of a reassuring smile was fake, and Dean could tell Cas could tell it was too. “Just…” _Convincing lie, think think think._ “I’m worried for Sam is all.” 

Cas nodded, not quite accepting the fallacy but at least going with it. “If Gabriel harms a hair on his head, I will see to it that he can no more.” 

It was Dean’s turn to nod. before things could get even awkwarder, he retreated back into the bathroom to spit and finish up. At least he couldn’t taste moose anymore. Now all the reminder he had to get rid of was the glitter. He’d need fucking steel wool to get the job done. Fuck. 

Turn the shower knob, wait for it to warm up while awkwardly naked and sparkly, finally step in. The water was all nice and scalding, mollifying even. Dean found himself unwinding beneath the steady stream. He scrubbed his skin raw trying to get rid of the glitter, and for the most part he did a good job. Give it another wash and he’ll be spick and span. And now that he was finished with the hygiene issue… he could entertain the pipe dream of Cas. 

Him and Cas, their lips fervidly skating the planes of each other’s skin, sucking red bruises on necks, on shoulders, on collar bones. Cas, sinking lower, lower, moaning shamelessly, pulling Dean’s erection into his mouth. Fantasy it might be, but Dean was hard enough for it to be real, that tightrope of pain and pleasure slicing into his feet with every step, every whine, every breath. In no time, he was bedizening the tiles with his load, crying out unintentionally as the orgasm peaked. He drained himself until all he was left with was the drowsy afterglow, tapped. 

“Dean?” 

Dean froze. 

When Cas didn’t get an answer, the door flung open and the air changed. Suddenly, it wasn’t a serene shower, but a crime scene. He was the criminal caught in the act. Dean scrambled for the showerhead to clean his sperm from the walls, only to realize he’d bought a stupidly cheap motel without a detachable shower nozzle. 

Cas flung open the curtain, brushing a gust across Dean’s wet skin and briefly prickling it. The angel was immediately combative, on the offensive, ready to strike whatever had made Dean cry out, but, as he took in the situation, his eyes widened and his cheeks turned so red they could’ve been roses. 

“Oh, sorry.” Cas’ gaze dropped down where Dean’s erection was still in his hand, maintaining its hardness even post-orgasm. If it wasn’t for damn refractory periods, Dean knew he’d be bucking for another whip. Cas was all harried, sex hair, and cobalts, and having him there, just watching Dean, oh man. 

As Dean took Cas in, the actual reality of _oh wow he’s here now and think of all the things that could happen_ sprinting through his head, he couldn’t help his eyes trailing down Cas’ body. Trenchcoat, oversized. Tie, loosened. Dress shirt, rumpled. Pants… tented already. Dean’s eyes widened with surprise, and he looked up to see Cas, really see him: un-tabooed, unforbidden. If Cas wanted Dean as Dean wanted Cas... 

“I’ll… leave you to it.” 

“No, Cas, wait!” Reaching out to grab Cas’ wrist, Dean stopped him from leaving, and his breaths became harsh. Dean’s eyes felt wide, his mouth going dry. “You want me to take care of you?” He said it softly, but Cas heard, and he nodded. “Get out of the clothes, then.” 

The angel was eager. So eager, that instead of taking the normal, human route of stripping, he was naked with a snap and climbing into the shower in no time. The tepid water pattered on Cas’ skin, soaked his hair and turned it darker. How was this even real. Dean was literally the luckiest person alive, and that never happened much. He wanted to savor Cas, show him how it could be like. Wanted him, to claim him, have him, and Cas wanted that too. Blessings upon blessings. 

Dean wouldn’t be able to get hard again so soon to save his life, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give Cas anything. This wasn’t Dean’s first round in the gay rodeo; he knew the ropes well enough to lead the blind. He knew what he liked, what other guys liked. Cas, angel he may be, shouldn’t be much different than them (although he was, god he was, he was so much more significant than those pricks and johns). Dean needed to give Cas the best time ever, something he wouldn’t forget in all his millennia, even long after Dean Winchester had left the earth. He could do that. 

He started with a kiss. As passionate as he could crank it. Hungrily devouring and greedily taking Cas’ tongue and moaning, moaning, feeling around the feverish walls of Cas’ mouth, pink gums. He relinquished Cas’ lips in favor of his jaw, his neck, planted damaging kisses there, slid down to his collarbones. Bit down, heard Cas gasp out, “Dean!” 

Dean grinned into Cas’ skin. He could feel the angel’s erection against his own cock, practically begging for attention. Cas’ hands travelled to Dean’s shoulders, tried to pull him down… 

“In due time,” Dean murmured. He kissed gently on the spot he’d bitten. Cas moaned. 

“Dean, I want-” Cas whined. His head tipped back, and Dean took the invitation to kiss more bruises on his neck. 

“I know, I know,” he spoke into Cas’ jawbones. He felt the other man’s mouth open and close soundlessly but for the creak of bone, the smack of lips. He reached up to kiss him again, just a short and sweet thing that had Cas leaning forward for more when Dean withdrew. Cas’ eyes were on the verge of closed, twitching eyelashes against his cheeks. Dean kissed those, too. “I’ve got you.” And Cas shivered. 

The water pounding against their skin wasn’t on the register anymore. Dean’s hands trailed down Cas’ sides as he sunk down, slowly for torture. Cas was an impatient monster, continuing to push Dean down, although thankfully withholding that wrathful angelic power that could crumble Dean to ash. Dean could tell it was hard to hold back. He could feel the raw power just waiting to be used under Cas’ skin. He wondered what that would feel like, and he slowed his descent for a taste. 

Impatiently, Cas growled, and he shoved Dean down. It wasn’t hard enough to injure, but it was enough to get Dean where he needed to be: on his aching knees, mouth open, and ready. Oh, he was ready. Cas was ready, too, although it was hard at just a glance to tell if that was precum on Cas’ cock or just shower water. One taste, tongue licking out and wrapping around the swelling head, confirmed it to be precum, sweet and salty precum. Dean savored the taste. Cas’ taste. 

Cas was, for lack of a better word, huge, not that Dean was comparing or harboring jealousy. His thoughts went to the future, imagining Cas inside of him, gripping at his hips and grinding a dangerous but steady rhythm. He could teach the angel that. Yeah, for sure. 

Dean licked along Cas’ shaft to hear him cry, sucked the head for the hands to leave his shoulders and grab at his hair, stroked his perineum to hear his name chanted like a prayer, “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.” 

“I’ve got you, baby,” Dean responded at the head. Cas groaned and his grip on Dean’s hair tightened. 

“You need-” 

“I’ve got you.” 

And got him he did. Dean looked up to see Cas staring down at him reverently. His breaths came in uneven gasps, chest stuttering up and down with every jagged pull of breath. And this was only the beginning. Dean smiled, and he gathered all the saliva he could in his mouth to take Cas fully into his mouth. 

His cock was swollen and salty, and Dean was surprised at the pleasantness of it. In the past, this had been for extra cash, a room, and wasn’t always this lascivious. Cas was special, though. More than special. Dean found his own dick wanting to get ready again, but he paid it no mind. This was all for Cas. All for him. 

“You-” the angel’s rough voice caught. He sounded _destroyed._ His legs were trembling on either side of Dean, and his tugging became even more incessant. “You should see yourself.” 

Dean moaned an assent, something that said “You should see _yourself_ ”. He really should. Cas was all wet and red spots and shuddering breaths. Fucking ravaged. And Dean did that to him. His angel. 

When he felt Cas jutting more urgently, felt him get just a tad harder, Dean knew. His tongue flattened against the shaft and this little motion came alive against his press. 

“Dean, I’m going to- I’m going-” 

He rubbed a hand across Cas’ ass to tell him it was okay. The other hand circled around a wayward freckle on the inside of his thigh, and suddenly that was it for Cas. As Dean withdrew some to savor the taste, Cas came with an abrupt cry of Dean’s name, and the saltiness of his cum coated Dean’s tongue. The angel was totally spent; he leaned against the tile where Dean’s own cum from earlier was shot. Both of them were trying to catch their breaths, trying to get a grip on the world and remember that _this was real._ It didn’t feel like it. 

At last, Dean was the one to break their silence. “Cas?” 

“Yeah,” he croaked. 

“Turn the water off.”

* * *

They moved to the bedroom shortly after, riding the wave of sleepiness orgasms provide. Dean found that when he kissed the spot right behind his ear, Cas sighed contently but otherwise remained still. Dean found that Cas smelled very good. Dean found that Cas fit _very_ comfortably between his arms, up against his chest, tangled in his legs. This is how they fell asleep, and this is how they woke up. 

They smiled at each other and gave morning kisses. Long, lingering, lazy. The kind that said, _yeah, I really like you_ , and _if I were feeling motivated at all, we could go for another round._ This was okay with Dean. They could go at whatever pace they wanted to. 

Eventually, Dean caught sight of the clock above the television and bolted straight out of bed. 10:23. Where the fuck was Sam!?

* * *

“I watched the rest of the video you know.” 

The bed was plush, heart shaped, and velvety. A honeymoon bed, not that Sam really protested to the special treatment by the staff and… ehrm, Gabriel. It felt fucking amazing against his back as Gabriel rode him like a cowboy all night long. Sam had to admit, the archangel had some stamina, but Sam could match him kiss to bite. 

Gabriel The Snuggler nosed his way into Sam’s neck. “Mmm, what video, hun?” 

“The one you gave Dean,” Sam reminded him. “Casa Erotica.” 

“Oh, yes, I remember.” Sam could feel Gabe smile as he licked a stripe against his neck. “Mmm, were you jealous of tall, blonde, and bendy?” 

“What if I say yes?” 

“Ooh, baby.” Gabe tugged at his ear with his teeth, dragged him back for more.


End file.
